The Enemy Walks
by Spykester
Summary: Eight years since Hogwarts and the fall of Voldemort a new evil is arising. Harry Potter reluctantly calls upon the help of an old enemy to fight it with unforeseeable consequences.
1. Default Chapter

The Enemy Walks

**Disclaimer: **JK Rowling owns everything to do with Harry Potter and I don't, all I do own is the twisted plot of this story and lots of train tickets. 

**Author's Note: **This is an idea that has been chasing me around for some time ever since I was engaged in a discussion about Draco's future. I admit upfront I am pro redemptionista but someone actually made an interesting point that if Draco is ever redeemed it most likely won't be within the scope of the seven novels. And so the idea for this fic was born. 

**Summery: **Eight since Hogwarts and the fall of Voldemort a new evil is arising. Harry Potter reluctantly calls upon the help of an old enemy to help fight it with unforeseeable consequences. 

**Rating:** R – pretty grim story altogether which may have slash in later chapters, I'm not sure yet. 

Rain pounded furiously down upon the tall, dark haired man from the inky black sky, showing him little mercy. It soaked his ebony locks and droplets clung to the lenses on his round glasses, distorting his vision, almost blinding him. 

It didn't concern him however for even though it had been many years since Harry Potter had set foot here, he knew his way around the maze-like prison like he knew the back of his hand. 

It had been eight years since Harry had fulfilled what all the innocents of the wizarding world had expected of the Boy Who Lived – essentially saving them all from the evil of the Dark Lord Voldemort and therefore bringing order back to the world. 

For the longest time Harry had felt that this was an utterly impossible goal that others had set him and that there was no real way a seventeen-year-old boy could defeat a wizard like that. A wizard who had after all murdered his own parents. 

But he had. And when he had done so instead of the elation at having avenged his parents and contentment that everything was now over that he had expected to feel Harry had in fact been left with nothing but a bitter emptiness. 

He had turned away from the world he loved, still loved now, the place he felt truly at home. The emptiness was a result of Harry feeling...well, that he was finished. He had done what everyone wanted of him, what did he have to offer now? 

So he had walked away feeling worse than he had ever felt during the war when he had seen people he cared about deeply maimed and killed. Harry had never thought that could be possible. 

_I've come back now though._

He walked past a guard and gave him a nod of recognition. So far none had asked what his business was here and Harry strongly suspected someone had already told them that he would be paying them a visit. 

He reached a T-Junction and turned left without any hesitation. He was heading in the direction of the row of cells reserved for those incarcerated in solitary confinement. 

Where the powerful, potentially dangerous prisoners were kept. 

Harry met another wizard guard at the door that led to the cells. Without a word the wizard led him silently down the row to the cell of the prisoner with whom he wished to speak with. 

Harry wondered briefly what he would look like. Prison could change people beyond nearly all recognition; he'd seen that for himself in times past. Although this prison was no where near the living hell that Azkaban had been, being kept in almost complete darkness all day every day, never communing with a soul (not even the person who brought him his food and occasionally washed him) must surely be horribly close to it. 

_And why shouldn't it be so? He deserves nothing less._

The guard stopped at last at what seemed to be the very last room on the row. A single torch was the only illumination supplied and this was not actually located in the cell itself but instead hung in front of the entrance and the light filtered through the grill at the top of the heavy wooden door. Harry knew such conditions were to compensate for the fact that this prison held no Dementors like Azkaban had done. Surely this though had the equal affect of sucking happiness and hope from the people who were held here. 

At the very least however, it guaranteed that he'd be willing to listen to Harry. 

He thanked the guard who seemed to understand that he had private business with the prisoner and merely unlocked the door for him, handed him the key to lock it again when he was finished and left without another word. 

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and awkwardly stepped in to the tiny room. There was barely enough space for the cot, which was the only thing approaching furniture in the cell, and the room's four walls were all an equal shade of depressing grey. 

There was moisture glistening on those stone walls and the entire room felt deathly cold. 

The prisoner himself was seated tensely on the tiny bed, wrapped in a scraggly, colourless blanket. 

No wonder so many prisoners held in solitary confinement had committed suicide in the past. In fact Harry now found it surprising that the prisoner had actually managed to hold out this long, he was hardly a character possessed of a strong will as he recalled. 

The prisoner's dull grey eyes slowly took in his visitor, the first visitor he had had in literally years. When he realised Harry's identity something finally flickered to life in those otherwise dead eyes but the fire was extinguished quickly. 

He was painfully thin and the ragged robes he wore were beyond filthy. His silver blond hair had actually been kept unusually trimmed, which was odd, but it didn't make up for the fact the once glossy flaxen tresses were now greasy, limp and lifeless. 

_Just like the man himself._

After a long silence in which they regarded each other the prisoner finally spoke. His voice was utterly different to what Harry had recalled – deep and raspy, like a death rattle. Devoid of the air of superiority it had once held. 

"What do you want Potter?" Asked Draco Malfoy with not one shred of discernable emotion. 

Draco Malfoy dreamed. 

In his dream he was seated in the beautiful, well tended garden of his home with his parents, the aristocratic wizard Lucius Malfoy and his elegant wife Narcissa, on a hot summer day. 

Draco was eating sweets from a bowl beside his seat and the sugared treats delighted his taste buds with their divine flavour. 

He was younger here somehow, probably fifteen. A time before the rot his father had planted in his son long ago had begun to spread into his heart, devouring him mind, body and soul and turning into something less than human. 

All around him was gorgeous living colour that his waking self had not seen in eight years. Green and gold, blue and burnt sienna… 

So beautiful. 

He reached greedily for the bowl of sweets again, tingling with contended pleasure only for his eyes to open- 

-And to find the dull, moist stone of his tomb (for that essentially was what the prison cell was) surrounding him. He was convinced the cell got smaller and smaller as every day past. 

Eventually it would devour him as bitterness and resentment once had. Crush him slowly. 

Deep down in a tiny recess of Draco's mind that he deigned not to visit all that often, he knew he deserved this misery. 

He had, after all, turned himself in of his own free will due to this knowledge. But by then the damage had been well and truly done. 

Draco had walked the path his father had always desired he would. There had been many times where briefly he had considered the possibility of rebelling. But when such thoughts occurred all he had to do was think of the boy whom he loathed above all else and they were quickly dismissed. 

He'd taken the Dark Mark, thus branding himself irrevocably to the Dark Lord's service. The things he'd done, such terrible things that no sixteen year old should ever so much as imagine in their most darkest moments. 

Draco recalled vividly the worst that he had afflicted...he could still remember very clearly how the crimson blood had trailed down the jagged shard of glass, staining it before it eventually dripped to the floor where a puddle of blood had already formed for the torture had been going for hours by then. Yet his victim would not relent despite his obvious pain. 

All because of who his godson was and because Draco was far too cowardly to face Harry Potter himself. He had instead targeted the one person closest to his heart. 

So he was rightfully banished to this life, a life devoid of colour, completely alone. True, his sentence was twenty years and he had so far served eight of those so by all accounts Draco should be alive by the end of it. 

But he doubted it. 

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists together tightly. He'd never felt so completely isolated. His parents were dead he knew that much and plenty of times he had been ever so close to simply ending it all so he could be with them again. So he could be in a place where there was so much lively colour and everything was just perfect as it was supposed to have been. 

It was an allusion though; a fantasy from the desperate mind of one who has been kept in solitude and has never really had the chance to properly grieve for the death of his parents. 

Nor had received the chance to offer an apology, however weak or redundant it might be, to those he had inflicted pain upon. He had possessed an ice cube in place of a heart all through his life until the day Draco realised that he had begun to hate himself deeply for what he was doing. That he saw it was terrible, evil and sick and despite what his father told him there was nothing to be gained from being an acolyte of Voldemort's. Nothing but a constant cycle of pain and hate and every act you committed was seen for what it truly was - just meaningless cruelty. 

In the end Draco had walked right up to the enemy and offered to tell them everything he knew in change for some leniency. He was already a wanted man and never expected them to give him his freedom. 

_Some leniency this is. _

It was then that he heard footsteps approaching steadily. One pair he recognised as belonging to the stringy haired guard who looked as disinterested in living as those under his charge. The others were also familiar but Draco would not place where he had heard them before. 

Someone was here on a visit and judging from his familiarity with the visitor it was reasonable to assume he or she was here to see _him._

Draco sat up tensely on his tiny excuse for a bed and pulled the blanket around him a little more. He was used to the constant cold that permeated the prison but he felt rather nervous and gave a small shudder. 

The footsteps drew nearer and eventually they drew to a stop at his door, confirming Draco's suspicion that whoever was out there was here to see him. 

Draco's last visitors, several years ago now, had been wizards and witches out to bribe magical favours from him, promising Draco his freedom in return if he would do as they asked. He had refused and in the end they had stopped coming altogether. 

The door clicked open, he heard the key being slid back out of the lock and a series of metallic jangling as they were placed into someone's hand. 

_Odd, the guard has never trusted my visitors enough to hand them the keys. _

_He or she must be an Auror._

What information could he possibly offer them now? Voldemort and his father were dust and bones. 

The wooden door swung fully open, creaking just a little and a tall, black haired man stepped in and even after all this time Draco had no trouble at all recognising him. The young man's appearance showed maturity and…weariness. But who could blame him for that? The fate of the entire world had once rested upon those shoulders and Draco had always thought they were rather skinny shoulders. 

The man's luminous green eyes regarded him quietly. Eventually, since he did not seem about to explain the reason for his presence here Draco asked, "What do you want Potter?"


	2. Chapter Two

**The Enemy Walks**

_So typically direct. Well, at least he's not insane, so many of them are._

Harry sighed and yanked his glasses off so he could rub his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Draco desperately wanted to hurry him up, but thought it best to let Potter tell it at his own pace. 

He had no right to demand anything of him after all. 

"Well, to put it simply," Potter said at last, "We've got a new evil wizard to contend with. This one however is extremely subtle and cunning, well, more so than Voldemort-" Draco flinched at the mention of the his former master's name. 

"-So much so that we don't even know what he looks like, let alone who he is." 

"And I fit into this problem where exactly? Which by the way, considering how I'm destined to spend another twelve years in here, would be very much _your _problem," The minute those words past his lips Draco knew he should not have said it. Harry flared angrily, shoving his glasses back on and glaring archly at his former schoolmate. 

And former enemy. 

"I came here," Harry replied coldly, "Because I need someone with inside knowledge of the black arts and who is familiar with how such a wizard operates. He might be far subtler when compared to Voldemort, but he still uses very similar methods of working. " 

Draco stared at the wall just over to Harry's left simply because he could not bring himself to look him in the face. He found it much too painful. 

"Look around you Potter," He said, spreading out his arms as if to indicate the world in general. "Your in a prison full of Death Eaters, or what remains of them. And non of them have done the kind of things to you I have..." Draco trailed off. Harry saw the look on his former enemy's face, one of extreme discomfort and the tiniest hint of guilt. 

Prison had certainly changed him; almost for the better one might say. 

Sirius certainly would. 

"Why would you ever come to me?" 

"Because out of all the Death Eaters in this prison, you're the only one I trust." 

There was no way Harry could ever have prepared himself for Draco's reaction. The blond man threw back his head and laughed. It echoed eerily around the tiny cell as if a hundred of him were laughing at once. It was particularly creepy given the maniacal note to it. 

"Oh, that's funny Potter. I mean really I'm glad you visited if only for giving me the first real laugh I've had in years." 

The almost demented smile he wore on his face faded then and was replaced with a very ugly look. Malfoy probably meant it as a scowl but instead it spoke silent volumes of the deep-seated self-loathing Draco really felt for himself. The self-loathing that had seen him hand himself over to his bitter enemies. 

That was however after a spectacular duel with Harry himself in which Harry had come very close to killing him. He had been so furious when Malfoy had managed to escape. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock when he arrived back at where the Aurors were currently staying at the time to find that Draco Malfoy had voluntarily handed himself over to them only mere minutes ago. 

And he'd seen the very same look in his eyes then that he beheld in them now. 

"Tell me Potter, does your godfather know what your doing? You do realise the minute he finds out he'll kill me," Draco didn't seem particularly worried about that prospect; in fact Harry suspected he would probably be glad of it. 

"Actually, he's waiting outside for me to bring you out. And as to why I trust you...well, it's a lot of reasons. But this isn't something you'll hear a lot of in your life so be glad of it." 

"Take me out? How on earth are you going to get me out of here? Surely the authorities didn't approve this?" Draco already knew the answer. 

Harry looked rather amused by the question. 

"Of course they didn't," He said simply. Then, he reached inside his bottle green robes and withdrew something long and silvery. Draco frowned at it, then realised what the beautiful garment was. 

"You'd think this prison would be well guarded against the use of Invisibility Cloaks," He noted dryly. Potter grinned. 

"You would wouldn't you? Then again, who could foresee Harry Potter smuggling any prisoner, much less Draco Malfoy, from this place?" 

A smirk ghosted Malfoy's lips then. 

"Yes. Who would indeed?" 

Draco quickly ducked under the garment and waited for Harry to open the door. He held out his arm to stop Malfoy from walking out straight away as he checked the corridor to see if the guard was anywhere near. Near enough to have heard anything of what they were plotting that is. 

"It's clear," Harry murmured, letting his arm fall back to his side. Malfoy quickly slipped past him and out into the corridor, heart beating wildly. 

_This can't work! It can't! It's too simple! Surely it cannot be this easy?_

Harry locked the heavy cell door and strolled away nonchalantly. You had to hand it too him, he was a damn fine actor when he wanted to be. Draco walked as silently as he could just a step behind Harry now. He had to fight the urge not to simply abandon all such precaution and just make a run for it. 

They past the guard and Harry handed him back the key to Draco's cell. Draco was sure he would hear something, but the drab wizard did not so much as bat an eyelid. They walked on, past another guard and still nothing. Past another and still nobody raised so much as a questioning eyebrow at them. 

Finally they reached the exit and Draco's heart very nearly stopped dead when someone called out to Harry. 

"Mr. Potter?" 

Harry wheeled round, keeping his face a mask, but inside he was panicking, his stomach writhing as if it were filled with live snakes. 

The man who had stopped him was carrying something black under his arm. He smiled at the 'special' visitor and Harry felt himself relax a bit. He also thought he heard a very relieved sigh from behind him. 

"You almost left this Mr. Potter," The wizard said, holding out the black clothing, which was a cloak. Draco had to bite his lip to stop himself from saying 'thank Merlin' aloud. 

"Oh! Of course, how silly of me," Harry breathed with a rather nervous giggle. Malfoy badly wanted to kick him. 

_Try saying 'guilty' ten times fast,_ he thought sourly, then reminded himself what Potter was doing for him, which considering their history he should consider nothing short of a divine miracle. 

Harry took the cloak, thanked the wizard and swept away, leaving Draco to follow silently. 

At long last, they were out. It was raining cats and dogs and it was almost pitch dark but Draco Malfoy had never laid eyes on such a beautiful sight in a very long time. It was dark, yes, but there was colour. And life and vibrancy, everything he had been deprived of in prison. 

The world had never looked so beautiful. 

They walked on through the downpour until Harry rounded a corner and was met by a figure Draco had no trouble in recognising and he felt his blood run cold and a horrible sick feeling began building in his stomach. 

It was Sirius Black. 

"You there Malfoy?" Sirius asked without emotion, his face a mask. But he knew what the man was feeling. Well, maybe not knew exactly, but Draco could easily hazard a guess and he would not blame the man if he leapt forward and strangled him where he stood. 

"I'm here," he affirmed. He desperately wanted to say 'I'm sorry,' but this wasn't the time. His disappearance could be discovered at any moment. 

"No trouble then Harry?" Sirius enquired of his godson. Harry shook his head. 

"No trouble at all. It was certainly a lot easier than I could have anticipated." 

Draco had a strong feeling it wasn't just their escape from the guards they were referring too. 

"Good." Sirius held up an object, it looked like a ball of some kind that had been punctured or something. It was black and white and most probably a discarded old Muggle object, or at least was so to all appearances. 

_A Portkey._

Harry took hold of it. Draco followed suit. 

"You holding it?" Harry hissed out of the corner of his mouth. Draco nodded, than remembered that Harry could not see him. 

"Yes." 

"Ok. Sirius, NOW!" 

There was a sharp tug at Draco's navel and he felt himself being sucked away like water down a plughole. The journey took mere seconds, which gave him the suspicion that Potter and Black had not in fact travelled all that far. 

They appeared in front of a house on a hill. It was very shabby and badly kept, white dirty paint was peeling from the wood and the windows were spotted with something Draco did not feel he wanted to know the name of. One window had clearly been broken at one point then badly patched up with something as temporary as it looked. 

Carefully Malfoy slid the Invisibility Cloak off himself. He felt more exposed somehow now that they could see him and he purposely kept his eyes averted from them both, especially Sirius. 

"Where are we?" He asked quietly. 

"This is Remus Lupin's house," Harry responded. The rain had eased off a bit, but all of them were rather wet. 

"Let's get inside," Sirius said gruffly, walking to the front door. Harry and Draco followed and they were soon enveloped in blissful warmth. 

And colour. 

For all it's shabby outside appearance the home was surprisingly rather cosy on the inside. Being a werewolf meant that Lupin had never had a steady job and therefore was poorer than the Weasley family had ever been. Although he had never admitted it when the friendly, quietly spoken man had been a teacher had Hogwarts, Draco rather liked him. 

Lupin had never judged him like all the other teachers. Never spoke to him with just a slight edge (which even Snape had started to do when he saw that there was to be no dissuading the Malfoy boy away from Voldemort) of frostiness, never put him in detention for some idle mischief whereas any other pupil, especially Potter, would have merely been awarded a slap on the wrist. 

Draco wished now more than ever he had told him this, rather than choosing to keep up mean appearances and making fun of his tattered clothes instead. 

_Bad choices. The story of my life ladies and gentleman__._

The three of them walked into the living room where there was a roaring fire ready. In a comfy if rather moth eaten chair was Remus himself and he beamed at the three of them, no apprehension at having an actual criminal, who inflicted great hurt upon them all no less, in his house was present at all in his friendly eyes. Still as non-judgemental as ever. Draco smiled back and it was utterly genuine, not the horrible, disdainful smirk of his youth. 

"Well hello. I didn't expect you to be here quite so soon. Everything went smoothly then?" 

"Very," Sirius affirmed, edging over to the sofa and sitting down. Harry gently propelled Draco into the seat closest to the fire before seating himself next to his godfather. There was a very long uncomfortable silence in which Sirius tossed out probing looks to Harry. It was obvious he wanted a word with him. 

Eventually Lupin cleared his throat and said, "Draco, I imagine you would like a proper bath, yes? I'll show where the bathroom is." 

"Oh, yes, that would be nice." He followed Lupin out of the room casting one last look at the two before he went. He was sorely tempted to eavesdrop on the exchange that was assuredly imminent but decided he would rather not know. 

Lupin took him to a surprisingly clean and well-tiled bathroom. It's cleanliness more than made up for its size. It was positively tiny but to one who was used to such meagre space it didn't particularly bother Draco whereas at one time it would have appalled him. 

"There's fresh towels in the linen cupboard," Remus told him, pointing to where the cupboard was in the corner of the room. 

Draco meant to thank him but instead blurted, "He hates me doesn't he?" Remus paused; gnawing his lip, not entirely sure whether the question was meant to be rhetorical or Draco actually desired some sort of comforting answer. 

"How would you feel if he had done to you what you did to him?" He said simply. This seemed to be pretty much what Malfoy expected but he was also clearly confused and Remus could not honestly blame him. 

"Then why'd you take me out? Why not kill me? It's what I deserve." Lupin sighed and brushed a hand wearily through his greying, light brown hair. 

"Because they can forgive…if you help us that is." 

Malfoy merely nodded. 

Feeling that there was nothing more to be said, Lupin left, closing the door quietly and walked back downstairs to where he could hear raised voices from the living room. After a moments hesitation he wandered into the kitchen. 

Best to leave Harry and Sirius to sort this out between themselves. 

After Remus and Draco had left, Sirius turned to face his godson next to him, wondering exactly how he should approach this. Part of him wanted to yell and scream and tell Harry how stupid and naïve he was being trusting a Malfoy, especially Draco. But the other part reminded him that if Harry could put aside his personal feelings about Malfoy then so should he. 

"I know this must be very difficult for you after what he did…" Harry began slowly, and then trailed off not having any real way to finish that sentence. Ever since that terrible night, when Harry had found Sirius bound to a chair and smeared in blood, shallow yet vicious cuts scarring his body, neither had really spoken of it again. 

Until now. 

"No, I don't think you do understand Harry. I know he hurt…well, he did what he did to me to hurt you but…you never had to experience that. Seeing how much it delighted him, the pain that just wouldn't stop and knowing he was prolonging it on purpose…" 

"You don't need to remind me. He hurt me in all kinds of ways, and that was one of them. Torture isn't something I'm not unfamiliar with Sirius, you should know that." Sirius nodded, secretly angry with himself for forgetting that. Harry shuddered when he thought of the times he had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse after the Tri Wizard Tournament by Voldemort. The pain had been unbearable. 

"I still don't understand why he is so pivotal to your plan. The plan you have yet to let us in on by the way," Sirius knew the pitch of his voice was rising but he could not help it. 

Harry was starting to look rather exasperated. He knew why Sirius was being difficult, but surely his godfather could trust his judgement by now? He was no longer a young seventeen year old fighting like a kitten against a large, fierce jungle cat as had been the case before. He was a man and a hell of a lot wiser. 

But it does not mean I'm right, Harry reminded himself. Now was not the time to grow an ego. One thing that always benefited him in the past was his level headedness. 

"This…wizard, whoever he is. He works like Voldemort. Obviously hates Muggles and Mudbloods and Hermione had heard tell that he brands followers very much like Voldemort did with a variation of the Dark Mark, only he uses some kind of magical oath to seal their loyalty. Draco worked in Voldemort's service…he could be an asset." 

"Or he could be our undoing," Sirius countered pointedly. 

"I'm aware of that," Harry responded coolly. "But I feel this is a risk that is worth taking." 

There was a long silence. Sirius seemed to be mulling this all over whilst Harry waited tensely for his response. 

"Very well," He said at last, dark eyes not meeting his godson's and he made sure Harry knew that he was still very doubtful. He wanted to support him, but on this matter he simply could not bring himself to do that. 

"I just hope it doesn't come back to bite you on the backside." 


	3. Chapter Three

**The Enemy Walks**

The warmth of the water was delicious and infused delightful sensations within Draco that he had completely forgotten about. Or so he'd thought. He moaned at the pleasure something so simple as a nice, hot bath could bring and slid down a little further into the tub. 

He tilted his head back a little and allowed the water to gently caress his silver blond locks, washing away the grime and grease that had clung to them almost permanently when he'd been in prison. 

Picking up the soap, Draco gently began to clean his smooth, alabaster skin and mulled over what Lupin had told him. It had been inevitable that another dark wizard would arise to take Voldemort's place in the wake of his destruction eventually. Before Voldemort there had been Grindelwald and before him a witch named Rosemary or 'The Dark Rose.' They however had not wielded quite as much power as Voldemort and nor had they been quite so driven by an insane desire for immortality, their soul drive had been power where as that merely had been one of Voldemort's. 

Perhaps that was what had made him such a fearsome enemy, he had been vastly more complicated than those before him. 

The fact that this new dark wizard did not, as yet, have an identity was disconcerting and rather unusual. 

Rather like Harry's freeing of him come to think of it. Draco gave a wry smile at this. 

He still could not really grasp why Harry would need him. Draco did not have a wand any longer, what use could he possibly be? Potter obviously had something hidden up his sleeve but for the life of him Draco couldn't hazard a reasonable guess as to what it was. 

He still wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. 

Briefly Draco wondered how Harry's little conversation with Sirius had gone. Anger would be perfectly understandable and if he chose to take it out on him Draco would not try and fight back. 

As he had said to Lupin – if they had killed him it would not have been any less than what he deserved. 

Almost the very same words that Harry had said to him in that last duel – _"You had this coming."_

Rinsing his hair, Draco let his mind wander back over the past. He saw flashes of various moments and events, some actually quite pleasing but most decidedly not. 

One that stood out horridly vividly was the time when he had been home for the holidays and had been unable to sleep. Eventually, in what were the early hours of the morning, he'd got out of bed and crept downstairs to the vast ground floor of the manor to search out some of his mother's sleeping potions. Only instead he'd heard screams and muted moaning of human agony coming from one of the rooms. 

Curious, Draco had opened the door to find a woman, a Muggle judging by her clothing, lying on the ground amidst a circle of Death Eaters. At that point in Draco's life it had been the most horrifying and grotesque scene he had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon. 

Her skin hung off various parts of her body in grotesque strips, revealing bloody muscle underneath. Even worse was the fact that some of the torturers (one of whom was of course his father) had also heated the jagged, tapered knives that had made those horrid cuts and used them as brands, burning the flesh until it turned black and bubbled like heated wax. 

Draco had fought hard to keep down the bile rising in his throat and had simply backed out of the room and run, screaming all the while for it was then that he knew there was to be no escape from this evil, he would never have a choice about joining it or turning away from it. 

He knew his soul was truly damned. 

His eyes snapped open and Draco was aware of a clammy feeling in his hands. They'd wrinkled up, as skin did when immersed for a long period of time in water. 

The water was now cold. 

_I think I've been in here long enough._

Slowly, Draco rose up and stepped out of the bathtub. At the same moment the bathroom door opened and Harry stepped in. 

"Malfoy, are you...? Oh, I'm sorry," Harry's voice went from concerned annoyance to an embarrassed squeak faster than one could blink. Draco had to use a lot of willpower to fight down the laugh that threatened to escape him. It did not really concern him about Harry seeing him naked, former enemy or no. He had after all spent eight years been hastily washed by a complete stranger. Such circumstances tended to strip one of their inhibitions. 

Harry immediately covered his eyes and turned to face the opposite wall. Draco chuckled at the fact that Potter was clearly squirming as he tugged open the door of the linen cupboard Lupin had pointed out earlier. He picked up the first folded towel he happened to lay his hand on...only to find several large, ugly harvest spiders had discovered it first. 

With a slight grimace Draco pulled them off, which wasn't that easy as the stubborn arachnids didn't seem to want to let go. 

He wrapped the towel loosely around his waist and then saw with amusement that the spiders had now retreated to a corner and were showing him their backs like petulant children who had just received a scolding from their parents. 

Looking away from the creatures, Draco turned and said to Harry's back, "Ok, I'm decent now." 

With an audible sigh of relief, Harry turned and faced the young man who was still naked from the waist up, tiny droplets of water trailing down Malfoy's too skinny chest and stomach. For some peculiar reason he found this simple thing strangely fascinating. 

Tearing his eyes away from Draco's chest he spoke flatly as he saw the questioning look in Malfoy's steel grey eyes. 

"I wanted to see if you were all right…you've been in here quite a while you know." 

"You thought I might have tried to kill myself rather then help you," Draco replied bluntly. It wasn't an accusation as such; just what he perceived to be the truth and the expression that crossed Harry's countenance confirmed that. 

"Or we thought you might have tried to escape," Harry snapped defensively. Draco let out a derisive snort at this. 

"Oh yes, that would be a great idea wouldn't it? Try to escape from three fully trained wizard without so much as a wand to aid me." Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "You don't value my intelligence much do you Potter?" 

Harry's nostrils flared. 

"You haven't exactly put it to good use, or perhaps you didn't notice?" He sneered acidly. Draco seemed to back down a little. Harry knew he wasn't exactly being kind to their 'guest' but he also didn't really care. The rules of hospitality didn't exactly apply to a former enemy in Harry's mind. 

Malfoy would have to face up to his mistakes as well as those he'd hurt whether he liked it or not. 

After a pause Draco opened his mouth, probably intending to snap back a retort when he seemed to decide against it and instead let out a resigned sigh. 

"I'm not running away, I promise you that," He whispered so quietly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear the words. 

"Glad to hear it," He murmured as they walked out of the bathroom. 

Harry showed Malfoy to a small, somewhat cramped room at the back of the house. The blond man sat down and ran his fingers through his damp hair, an act he'd only ever engaged in when he was nervous as Harry recalled. 

"Well, you'll want to get dressed so I'll-" Harry indicated the door and began to back out of the room. Malfoy couldn't help it this time and let out a low, husky laugh and Harry stopped and cocked his head, wondering why Draco found his embarrassment so very amusing. 

"Doesn't others seeing you naked bother you?" 

"Not really," Malfoy shrugged. "At least not any more. Try spending once a week being hastily washed by a guard in seriously need of a bathe himself and then we'll talk. Quite disturbing when you consider that washing the prisoners was probably the highlight of his week." 

Harry wrinkled his nose. 

"Thank you ever so much for all the mental pictures." 

He turned to leave but when he got to the door turned back again as an after thought occurred to him. 

"I'll send Remus up with some food ok?" 

"Oh...you don't have to do that," Draco responded, flushing a little. He wasn't used to expressing gratitude in any shape or form but it was just one of things he was going to have to get used to. If the authorities didn't find him and chuck him back in jail first. 

Looking up, Draco saw that Harry had left. Sitting back on the bed, not unduly concerned about the water dipping onto the sheets, he waited patiently for Lupin. 

The prison was in uproar. Officials had been notified about the breakout of the prisoner (apparently aided by one Harry Potter. Yes, the famous Harry Potter) and were swarming around the prison like enraged worker ants. This was despite the fact that the prisoner was clearly not going to be still there. Closing the door after the horse has bolted so to speak. 

William Crayke, the guard whom had so foolishly given Harry Potter the key to the prisoner's cell, watched all this with great amusement. 

Because he'd already known what would happen. It was not mere stupidity that had seen him give the key to Potter. Oh no, not under any other circumstances would he have done such a foolish thing. Not even if it were the Minister for Magic himself visiting. 

So the officials raged, cast locater spells which predictably didn't yield any information as to Malfoy's whereabouts. Potter was no fool, he would make sure Malfoy couldn't be found, wherever he was. 

At least, this is what he'd been told. This was what his anonymous master had said. 

Crayke was loyal to everyone and to no one. Whoever gave the right price. His master had insisted he allow Potter to smuggle the Malfoy boy out of the prison. 

The master, apparently, had plans for them both. 

Crayke would assuredly find out what they were in due time. 

But for now he was content to watch the chaos unfold. 

Eventually, Remus appeared with the promised food and some new clothes for Draco to wear. He mumbled a thank you, rather touched. It would make perfect sense if Lupin were to ever indulge in a show of hostility such as Harry and Sirius had and Draco greatly admired the fact that he had not, even though it did puzzle him. 

"Good night," The older man murmured, with no hint of sarcasm in it. 

"You too," Draco responded sleepily. 

Lupin left and went back downstairs to the living room. Harry had gone to bed but Sirius was still awake, a brooding expression on his face. 

"Ok Padfoot," Remus said with a chuckle. "Penny." 

Sirius jerked in surprise, having clearly not registered that he was no longer alone in the room, and then smiled at his old friend's words. 

"I think you should put away your hard earned money Mooney. These thoughts are not ones that should be paid for." 

Remus thought about that for a few seconds then shrugged. If Sirius didn't want to share then that was up to him. He knew better than to pressure him. 

"Well, if it helps at all, I've been worrying too. Not just about my new guest but also about our elusive new enemy." 

"I believe the reason that guest is even here is because we're all worried about this elusive wizard," Sirius replied, a little testily. 

"That's true but to be honest I find the latter concerns me more," Lupin explained. "How does one go about battling an enemy you cannot identify? That is, in essence, invisible?" 

"Not easily," Sirius sighed. "But we can always improvise." 

Outside stars glittered and the torrential rain had finally ceased, giving way to the clear night skies. 

Briefly Remus wondered where their new enemy was now. 

And what they were planning next. 

She stood in the overgrown garden of the rotting, long neglected mansion house and inhaled the crisp, night air. The rains had finally dispelled but left behind the smell of dampness and cloying earth. 

Still, such scents were not wholly unpleasant to her. 

She began to walk a little along the stone path that wound through the once trim but now wild rose garden, the train of her ebony, antique lace dress occasionally snagging a dead rose petal and dragging it along like some morbid form of decoration. 

How ironic, for she had once loved the roses here. But love was an emotion she had long since lost any attachment to. Hatred, bitterness and a desire to elicit fear and chaos anywhere and everywhere she could were all that she felt now. Where once she had been beautiful, an exquisite human being or so she had once been informed, she was now hardened and ugly. An aesthetic distortion that mirrored her own heart. 

_Beauty is but a small sacrifice though, in the grand scheme of things._

Her ashen face lifted itself to the sky and she ceased walking. She wondered what the other wizards and witches fighting against her were plotting now (unaware of course that one such wizard was wondering the very same thing about her). 

It was an amusing thought. 

Not one of them knew the first thing of her and in their supreme ignorance and stupidity assumed her to be male. 

While on one level this was rather insulting it was nevertheless beneficial. Along with the fact that all in the magic world thought her to be dead. Only the closest of her followers really knew anything about her and only two had ever met her in person. The rest, along with their enemies, assumed her some dark wizard and made erroneous guesses to her real identity quite frequently amongst themselves. 

But again, this was useful and she had even played up to it, encouraging those who did know that she was a witch to say otherwise and refer to her as 'master.' 

When it finally came down to a conflict, not one of these fools would ever see her coming. 

Like a poisonous and cunning cobra she would strike when they didn't expect it. There would be nothing any of them could do. It would be far too late. 

They would never see her coming. 


	4. Chapter Four

**The Enemy Walks**

Bathed in daylight, Lupin's house was far more charming and less decrepit in appearance than it seemed at night, as if nature itself were casting an effective little glamour spell over the dwelling. Even the boarded up window looked far less of a blemish upon the house's appearance. 

It would never look perfect, but for now it was just fine. 

Harry slowly chewed his toast the next morning, fiddling idly with the butter knife. Remus, who was sat at the other end of the table, seemed to be trying to devour everything within sight as he was approaching the start of his monthly cycle where he would not get an awful lot of rest or much to eat over those nights. 

They were sat in the kitchen, the only room in Lupin's house that could be considered 'spacious.' 

Usually on these three nights, Remus locked himself in the cellar of his house for obvious reasons but that would not prevent him from howling and snarling all night long. 

Mentally Harry ran through a list of all the places that they could go to. Ron and Hermione's seemed to be a good candidate, if one took Malfoy out of the equation. Putting him into it rather complicated matters. 

Still, it would be worth a try. 

"You know, all this brooding that's been going on recently is starting to depress me," Remus noted as he finished the last piece of toast. 

"Pardon?" Harry asked distractedly. 

"This brooding you and your godfather keep indulging in. Those who are not participating in it feel somewhat left out," Lupin's eyes danced with humour and Harry smiled back at him when he realised he was teasing him. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Not the easiest of times right now." Harry's gaze had suddenly become very far away. "I never expected to come back." 

Lupin frowned. 

"Then why did you?" Harry stared back at him with a suddenly closed expression and didn't reply. 

"Perhaps a more pertinent question," Spoke Sirius' voice from the kitchen doorway, "Is why did you leave?" 

Harry was clearly not pleased with either of these queries. 

"I already told you all my reasons for that," He responded frostily, knowing he was coming off as defensive; something that tended to indicate one was lying. He had never wanted any of those that were close to him to know the real reason on why he had walked away from the wizarding world simply because he was deeply ashamed of it. 

Harry saw now that the feeling of uselessness he's suffered after the war was over was partially his own fault. As much as he had tried not to do so, he'd begun to believe that his soul place in wizard society was as a hero. Without an enemy to fight, what use was he? 

It was the eventual shame he'd felt that had driven him back. True, he was still fighting his old fight against evil but this time he was using bolder and not entirely noble methods that including taking risks and (no need to sugar coat it) breaking the law. 

But this was no popularity contest. This was about getting the job done, and if the rest of the wizarding world didn't like the way Harry Potter was going about it these days then frankly they could get stuffed. His earlier approach had proven far too fallible and in some cases…fatal. 

"Oh, yes. Your reasons," Sirius replied, voice dripping sarcasm. "And if you honestly expected me to swallow them for a minute then..." Whatever Sirius was going to say next (and clearly it was not going to be complimentary) never came, for at that moment a soft, husky voice greeted them all. 

"Good morning." 

Sirius whipped round to see Malfoy stood next to him in the kitchen doorway. The blond flinched at his rather sudden movement and edged a little more into the room, keeping his eyes on the dark haired man. 

There was a long beat as the whole somewhat absurd tableau froze like that. Finally Remus, ever the peace maker, asked, "Would you two fellows like any breakfast or are you content to merely loiter in my doorway?" 

It succeeded in diffusing the moment for the time being. Sirius and Draco shuffled in and sat at opposite sides of the scrubbed wooden table. 

Harry was still looking very sulky and Sirius was clearly still fuming. Draco had overheard some of what had been said and was rather intrigued, although not entirely sure he completely understood what it had all been about. 

Remus waved his wand at the rest of the loaf of bread on the table and toasted it instantly as he and Harry had finished the first batch between themselves. Remus preferred toast for breakfast, as it was simple, fairly nutritious and also bread was always pretty cheap and Lupin was hardly rolling in wizard gold. 

All a matter of convenience. 

Harry poured himself a cup of coffee, a very sour and unpleasant look still on his face. Although he tried supremely hard to let it pass without comment, Draco simply couldn't restrain himself. 

"You best hope the wind doesn't change or your face'll get stuck like that Potter." He pretended to look revolted. "Honestly, you could curdle milk with that expression." 

"Which come to think of it, makes cheese," Lupin quipped with a grin. 

Neither Harry nor Sirius seemed very amused by this though. 

"Note to self. Draco Malfoy is still under the delusion he's funny," Harry said in a deliberately exaggerated fed up tone. Sirius stayed quiet, but his glare made the two young men feel uncomfortable and Lupin felt very sorry for them both. 

Draco scowled. 

"What do you mean, 'under the delusion?'" 

As breakfasts go, it was certainly not the most cheerful. Remus made a mental note to corner Padfoot again later, then amended that to all three of them. Clearly, the tensions that existed did not extend to Malfoy issues alone. 

He got his chance that very afternoon. They were back in the living room trying to sort out their accommodation, as Remus would be a werewolf for three nights, starting tomorrow. 

It wasn't too long before tempers that had not really cooled off since that morning, or in one case since Malfoy had arrived here, flared up again. 

They had at least managed to settle on a few things without much disagreement, such as wherever they were going to stay; it needed to be a wizarding abode therefore Harry's Muggle home was immediately excluded. Malfoy, much to everyone's great surprise, suggested the Shrieking Shack outside of Hogsmeade but both Harry and his godfather stamped on that one. Remus silently agreed with them on that, too many bad memories about that place all round. 

The eventual choice seemed to be Hermione Granger's and Ron Weasley's home. A choice Draco was clearly not happy with. He mumbled something none of the others heard but nevertheless caused Sirius to explode. 

"You have absolutely no right to complain nor make demands! Let me tell you right now Malfoy that your life will be a hell of a lot easier if you just keep quiet!" 

Thoroughly admonished, Draco had stared mutely down at the floor, his normally pale face reddening. 

Remus decided this was as good a time as any to speak up about his concerns. 

"Which brings me to something I feel needs to be addressed," He began with uncharacteristic sternness. The other three waited politely for him to continue, looking slightly surprised. 

"I know that...these _circumstances_ are difficult. On _all_of us. However I should remind you that we quite possibly could end up having another war to fight. At the very least, we have a faceless enemy to defeat and it is not possible for us to do that if we're constantly fighting and threatening each other." 

None of them had anything to add. They merely nodded in agreement of Lupin's words. 

Mission accomplished. 

What appeared to be a round black pebble gleamed on the dark wood table. A Scrying Stone, tiny windows to another place far, far away (some sorcerers had even been known to use them to see into times past, although she had never tried such a thing herself). Proof that great things can indeed come in small sizes. 

She was very glad that her mentor had schooled her so well in their use all those years ago and also greatly thankful that it's brother had remained undiscovered by those who resided in the house where it was currently placed. 

Ever since her subsequent 'vanishing' from the wizarding world, the world in general really, they had proven invaluable at keeping her informed of all the goings on of those she desired to know the dealings of. Not just her enemies either, her followers too. 

She would not tolerate doubt amongst them for a second. That had proven to be the first step towards mutiny in the past. 

So her mentor, dear Hadrius, had discovered, to his loss. 

And to her gain. 

She watched as the red headed man, unmistakably one of the seemingly endless Weasley clan, argued with his wife. She was amused by the fact that it was rather hard to judge what was more fearsome about Hermione Granger in that moment – the utterly furious look on her features or her exceptionally unruly hair. 

She gathered the information she desired however and finally withdrew her gaze from the stone. She picked up the polished, little ebony object and tipped it back into a small, drawstring leather pouch with the others. 

They were extremely precious to her not only because of their sheer usefulness but also because Scrying Stones had been outlawed at the Warlocks Convention of 1703. They were difficult to come by, even by witches such as her. 

Getting up from the table she smiled at her good fortune. So Potter and Malfoy would be arriving there soon. Who could have perceived such luck? Now she would know their every plan of attack, their every strategy. Everything. 

If they had stood any chance against her before, they certainly did not now. 

Her elation did not last long, however, as a familiar pain suddenly began in her temples and a voice whispered evilly to her in her mind. 

The demon was calling her. 

It was not something she ever cared to admit but if she had not struck a bargain with him she would never have lived. 

Because rightly I should have died. 

She listened to him, shuddering a little as he spoke. His barely human voice had the ability to freeze blood in ones veins and cause one to collapse, sick with fear at the mere sound of it. 

Yet his words still pleased her. 

It was not long before her delight returned, lighting up her somewhat aged features and making them briefly young again. 

"I owe you an apology." 

Harry turned and faced his godfather. They regarded each other quietly. 

"And I owe you one. I also do owe you an explanation. A truthful one," Harry replied solemnly. 

"Go ahead." 

Harry sucked in a breath and began. 

"I left the wizarding world because...after it was done it was like..." Harry growled in frustration, fist balling a little at his sides. He had not anticipated telling the truth being quite this difficult. 

"Like I had nothing to offer anymore. I defeated Voldemort like everyone expected me to do and then what? I was done and I felt there was nothing else anyone could possibly want from me. Fulfilled my duty, time to retire so to speak." 

For the first time in a long time Sirius found his eyes flickering to his godson's forehead to gaze at the famous scar that lay there. That little blemish that had marked Harry out, set him apart from everyone else. 

Sirius saw with surprise that the scar was a great deal fainter than it once had been. Almost completely unnoticeable. 

_How come I never saw this before now?_

"Didn't you ever stop to think about your friends? Or me? What does it matter about the expectations of others? You just shut is out and never gave a reasonable explanation as to why," Sirius reproached. 

"I know and I am truly sorry for that. It was stupid and selfish. But you have to understand how I felt," Harry replied somewhat plaintively. If the truth were told he'd never really considered how his friends would feel about him leaving their world, just assumed they would accept it. He'd kept in contact with them of course but it wasn't really that easy when you lived in two such incredibly opposite societies as the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. 

"I do…now that is. I just wish you'd told me this before," Sirius said gently. Harry laughed. 

"I can be very dense sometimes. I just never think before I act." This brought back memories of second year when he and Ron had flown Ron's dad's flying car to Hogwarts after they had been unable to get onto platform 9 ¾ and ended up crashing it into the Whomping Willow. 

Professor McGonagall had demanded to know why Harry had simply not sent his owl Hedwig (sadly now deceased) to them with a message explaining the situation instead of doing something so abominably foolish. 

Harry's response had simply been a very lame "I didn't think." 

"That's something we're all guilty of doing now and then. Dear old Mooney is right, fighting and hostility is not going to get us anywhere right now and we've got a lot to get on with over the next few weeks," Sirius continued. 

Hermione had been doing a damn good job keeping her ear to the ground and picking up useful information from both sides. This was another reason why going to her home had seemed a good idea. She had the necessary information they needed to begin planning counter attacks against the acolytes of their new enemy. 

Of course, fighting the wizard himself was going to be far harder but taking out the foot soldiers was definitely a positive start. 

Ronald Weasley paced the floor of his living room as his wife watched in irritation at the repetitive action. Hermione Granger's face was pale and drawn from lack of sleep and her normally bushy hair had become limp and dull. This was partially due to her exhaustive work as an Auror, an occupation she had entered into unintentionally but nevertheless enjoyed. 

She was also somewhat washed out from the terrible argument she had had with Ron the previous night, Strangely it had been one of the few times Hermione had actually understood Ron's point of view in a disagreement but she had refused to relent in any case. 

Hermione was admittedly as baffled by Harry's recent actions as anyone else but after she had engaged in a short discussion with Sirius recently she was now more willing to cut Harry and by extension Malfoy some slack during their stay. These were becoming increasingly troubled times and they should all be grateful for whatever help they could get (assuming Malfoy could actually provide any further or indeed helpful information). 

Despite all the reasoning though, Hermione was still not entirely happy with any of this. She had quite distinct memories of what Draco had put them all through. From the childish taunts of their school years through to the times he had seriously made attempts on their lives with a horrid smile on his pale, pointed face and most likely a song in his heart, Hermione remembered it all. 

_But he also turned himself in of his own free will. Then again, there could have been an ulterior motive for that. Knowing Malfoy that's extremely possible._

Hermione sighed heavily. Whatever was really going on she knew one thing – Harry apparently trusted Malfoy at this early juncture and as long as he did then so would she. She would be civil to this not exactly welcome guest and she had managed to cajole Ron into agreeing to do the same. 

However, Ron had vowed to watch the Slytherin's every move regardless. Hermione had secretly felt a little comforted by that. 

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw with alarm that her guest were due any minute now. Rising quickly from her chair and telling her husband to for God's sake stop pacing the room as he was wearing trenches in the floor, Hermione stood and waited, her stomach clenching with nerves. 

And something rather akin to dread. 

She shot an appraising look at her husband and saw his jaw was clenched and his eyes sparked with a mixture of anger and anticipation. 

In total silence, they waited for the arrival of their friends. 

And their enemy. 


	5. Chapter Five

**The Enemy Walks**

Draco remembered. 

His parents would never exactly have been finalists in any kind of Magical Parents of the Year award but still they had been all the family he had ever had in the world and whatever their misdemeanors, he still missed them. Loved them even. 

True, his father had been a cold, ruthless, wretched bastard. The price of prostituting yourself to the Black Arts was the ability to love even your own flesh and blood so it seemed. However, nobody could doubt that Lucius Malfoy had cared about his only son at some level. His only child in general really. 

Narcissa had, on the other hand, certainly loved him. In her own fashion anyway, but nothing had ever been more important to her than herself. 

Draco still did not know anything about the exact circumstances of their deaths (although he could make a likely guess) and that pained him far more than he cared to admit. 

How could you truly mourn the passing of your parents if you had no absolution about their deaths? Knowing of it was not the same as understanding it or at least that was how Draco saw it. 

He'd never cried, nor screamed, never done anything of that nature when he'd received the news. It had strangely not entered his head to do so. 

_What would have been the point?_

"Malfoy?" 

_Am I mourning now?_ He'd only really thought of his parents in his dreams and even then it had never grieved him…not as it was now at any rate. Draco felt a horrible coldness envelope him and his eyes suddenly moistened. 

In his entire life, Draco Malfoy had never shed a single tear… 

"MALFOY!" 

Draco's eyes snapped open and he stared into a pair of dark orbs gazing intently at him. Sirius had been on the verge of shaking him to snap him out of his reverie. 

Without realising it, he'd arrived at the abode of the Weasel and the Mudblood by Portkey. 

_Oh joy_. 

"Sorry," Draco mumbled, shaking his head, slightly dazed, causing several silver blond tresses to fall into his eyes, obscuring his vision slightly. 

Which was why he never noticed Ron stride towards him in an openly hostile fashion. 

Draco couldn't fail however to register the fist that slammed forcefully into his jaw. Malfoy stumbled back in shock and surprise (not to mention pain as well). His right cheek was stinging and Draco gingerly reached a cooling hand to it. 

He shot a furious glance at Sirius who had been stood right beside him and had done nothing to prevent Wesley's assault. One look at Black's face however and Draco knew he'd allowed it on purpose. 

"What...What was that in aid of?" He gasped, realising the moment the words were out how incredibly stupid they were. 

Hermione was clearly fuming at her husband (no doubt she had placed some kind of restraining order on Ron where Malfoy was concerned) whilst Potter seemed to be silently amused. 

"That!" Ron spat. "Was a warning! If you think for one mini-second that I trust you in anyway, that I am okay with you being in my house or okay with you in general, know right now Malfoy that you would be severely mistaken! I am not okay with you or any of this really but Harry seems to think you could be of some help to us and I trust this. For now." 

Ron panted for breath at the end of his tirade, allowing Draco to finally impart some words on his own behalf. 

Strangely, he did not feel insulted or angry at Weasley just…relieved at his reaction. He found that he'd rather they all be openly hostile than pretend to accept him. 

_Illusions are deceitful. They were my undoing._

"Fine. I can live with that." 

Ron was rather taken aback by this tame response. Once upon a Hogwarts time, Draco Malfoy had been fiery to say the least – never without a cutting insult or equally cutting retort. 

Now here he was accepting both physical violence and verbal insults from someone he had always considered inferior to himself in an almost meek fashion. 

"Well," said Hermione, disgruntled but making an admirable effort to conceal it. "Now that's settled, I want to say how nice it is to have you here…_all_ of you," She added pointedly. Ron snorted but managed to keep his opinion to himself. 

_Smart move,_ Draco thought. He knew from experience that it was not a good idea to push Hermione Granger too far. 

Ron had clearly learnt that too. Good for him. 

Hermione gestured at them all to follow her to the guest rooms she had prepared for them. Sirius had one on his own but Harry and Malfoy were forced to share. 

"I'm sorry," She murmured to Harry. "But I didn't think he should be on his own-" 

"Meaning you don't want anyone strangling or otherwise murdering him while he sleeps," Harry finished with a chuckle, although really the lack of trust between everyone at the moment really wasn't that funny. Not at all. 

He quirked a questioning eyebrow at her. 

"What makes you so sure I won't do that?" He added curiously. 

Hermione shrugged. 

"It's just not you," She said plainly, as if everything were as simple as that in life, which of course, could not be any further from the truth. 

"Neither is breaking a potentially dangerous criminal out of prison," Harry pointed out. "Don't worry, I don't have any intention of hurting him though so you can rest easy." 

"See!" Hermione hissed. 

Draco watched them closely, catching snatches of their conversation now and then. From what he'd overheard (as well as the 'Harry wasn't going to hurt him' part which wasn't as comforting as it should have been)_ The Daily Prophet_ had been having a field day with his escape from prison, apparently masterminded by the one and only Harry Potter. 

Potter had muttered something about 'not missing this,' whatever that was supposed to mean. 

Draco was rather surprised the Ministry had not actually looked here yet, something which Harry himself queried. Hermione's answer, as much as he was able to hear of it, was something to do with her being an Auror although her superior had casually asked her whether or not she had 'heard' from Mr. Potter recently. 

"I wasn't exactly lying when I said 'no,'" Hermione said, with an edge. Some point obviously lay behind that comment which Harry got loud and clear but Draco did not. 

Recalling Sirius' argument with Harry from that morning however, Malfoy could see a certain pattern emerging. 

_Something to mull over or at least to help take my mind off things__, _ he mused. 

That evening the five of them gathered in the spacious and warmly decorated living room, chairs arranged so they were sat in a slightly haphazard circle, to hear everything that Hermione had learnt over the last few months. 

Outside the sky was shot with deep crimson and splashes of purple as the sun had not yet sunk entirely from the sky and Draco allowed himself a small, if brief, smile. How he had yearned to see this sort of beautiful colour again, never dreaming it would ever actually be in the realms of possibility. 

Without even a window in his cell, all he'd had to look at for eight whole years was dull, lifeless grey. Even when he had brooded over past events, they had replayed over in his head in shades of grey like old, worn photographs from another, much older time period. 

Someone nudged him. With incredible difficulty Draco turned his attention back to the meeting. 

Sirius held out his hand, palm up, to Hermione and said, "Briefly, what do you know?" 

She ran a hand through her still rather limp brown hair. 

"I don't think there's anyway to be anything but brief about it," She confessed. In her hands, she cradled a large pile of parchment that looked in serious danger of toppling to the floor. It seemed to be a lot of paperwork for so apparently little information. 

"But nonetheless, here it is – for some time now a group of wizards have been attacking Muggleborns and Muggles themselves. Usually they do so in groups of no more than four and at first we, that is, me and the other Aurors, thought (or rather, hoped) they were merely isolated incidents until it started to happen more and more." 

Harry scowled. "I thought that kind of crap would have ceased with Voldemort gone." 

Hermione shook her head. "No, there's still those malicious, willing few who will do it on a sadistic whim. The leader may be gone but what he believed lives on in others." Her eyes were blazing as she said all this. As a Muggleborn witch herself it went without saying that this was extremely personal to Hermione. 

Harry's eyes had suddenly glazed over, as if he were seeing an event from the past. Draco briefly wondered if he were recalling the Quidditch World Cup where his father Lucius had...no. He didn't want to think about that right now. 

"We still didn't connect them to any one particular group or consider that they might be acting under a specific person's instruction until we finally apprehended one of the culprits and he started boasting about some powerful master they all worked for." 

"Was he at all specific about this master? Such as what his intentions are?" Sirius queried, already guessing the answer. 

"No. But he had a mark tattooed on his left arm." Hermione began riffling through the pages until she found what she was looking for. A few stray pages fluttered to the floor and Draco tried to catch a glimpse of what was on them but Ron scooped them up again before he could make anything out. 

Holding the parchment up, she finished in a flourish, "This mark." 

The four men leaned in for a better look at the sketch. The mark seemed to be the symbol of infinity enclosed within a decorative circle…no, a serpent. Odd, but on it's own, it didn't really mean that much. Yet Ron felt he'd something like it before, but where he simply could not recall. 

Sirius ran a hand through his long dark hair, puzzling over this minute yet possibly vital information. 

"It seems to indicate something that is eternal, endless…but what?" 

"Maybe someone continuing You-Know-Who's legacy?" Suggested Ron. Hermione gaped at the her husband, appalled. 

"Ron! That is so…insensitive! She cried. "I mean with Harry here and all…" 

Harry sighed and shrugged. Hermione had always been so protective of Harry. Not that he didn't appreciate it but…well, he _was_ a grown man now. 

"It's ok Hermione, really," He assured her. She looked rather doubtful but said nothing more. 

"Who would want to continue such a legacy?" Sirius wondered aloud. All eyes immediately fell on Malfoy. He shifted uncomfortably at the attention. 

"Well, none of the Death Eaters I knew would do that. I mean, with him gone permanently this time I would very much doubt they would be willing to work under another but...it's possible," He said carefully. 

Harry was stung by a very unpleasant thought that came completely out of the blue – what if Voldemort was not truly gone? 

_No, that's impossible! I saw him die! _

_Didn't I?_

"Why would they use a different mark though, and not the Dark Mark?" Ron was asking. Hermione supplied an answer, pointing out that a new leader would want their own mark or symbol of identification to distinguish themselves individually. To be known for their own unique identity so to speak. 

"So why function as Voldemort once did, almost to the letter? That does now seem at all unique, just lazy," Sirius mused. 

And so they continued talking earnestly amongst themselves into the night. 

Unaware of the eyes that steadily observed them and the fact the one whom they belonged too heard every word that was spoken. 

She watched. 

_"So they think that you are one of **his **ilk, that you follow in his footsteps. How greatly ironic,"_ The demon hissed to her in her head. She favoured herself a smile then and replied, "Yes, quite so. I see it as an honour regardless," she added, a wistful look coming into her eyes. 

She sensed that her demon master disappointed of this. 

_"Really? Micaela, he failed miserably in his goals...consider what Tom is, or should I say, was to you, surely you are gravely disappointed in him?"_

Micaela had never dared to show anger or anything really other than the proper deference to her master but at this great insult she allowed her temper to flare, consequences be damned. 

"Not at all," She seethed. "Perhaps he did fail ultimately but he also achieved such great things. He came to a point where he was in so many ways immortal before he was stopped the first time by that dratted little brat Harry Potter. 

"He achieved enough for any mother to be proud of." 

To her surprise, the demon was not enraged by her own show of temper. In fact, it seemed to amuse him if anything. 

_"Such are the weaknesses of the mortal mind,"_ He taunted. 

"Not for much longer," Micaela assured him. "You shall see to that." 

_"Indeed,"_ The demon replied. 

Harry couldn't sleep. Ever since the thought had crossed his mind that maybe..._impossibly_…Voldemort was still alive he found that the idea simply would not leave him. 

He turned over and gazed at the moonlight streaming in through the window, his back to Draco, who was apparently sleeping peacefully. 

_But it could be possible, he came back once before didn't he?_ A nasty, insistent little voice in his head whispered in response to his constant denials. Much as he hated to admit it, he was listening to it. 

To Harry's mind, this was all too familiar. The tattoo, the particular selection of victims; As Sirius had said it seemed a much too lazy way for a supposedly powerful wizard to make their mark. 

Malfoy had observed that any remaining Death Eaters not currently rotting away in prison would not take too kindly to another wizard apparently duplicating Voldemort, whether he was far more powerful than their former leader or not. Most of them had held some kind of twisted loyalty towards the fallen Dark Lord or so he'd said. 

_His father hadn't._

That wasn't really fair though. Draco couldn't help who his father had been and where his allegiances had lain. 

_Yet he chose to hurt me and mine of his own accord._

As William Shakespeare himself had wrote, jealousy was the green eyed monster and just as it had seen Othello destroyed so it had assured the destruction of whatever conscience had ever resided within Draco Malfoy. At least, for a time anyway. Too late did he rediscover it. Too late did he realise his folly. 

But unlike Othello, who had been hero, Malfoy had always been…well, a villain to Harry's eyes. Things had been that simple to him once – one side heroes, other side villains. 

Only later did Harry come to realise that the lines between good and evil were at best a murky grey. 

Harry wanted to fully understand what had truly driven Malfoy back then, when he had been his enemy. He needed to understand because only then would he ever feel ready to forgive him. 

It was indeed taking a lot on faith. But so far Malfoy was hardly balking at the idea of forgiveness or helping out their side as one might have (realistically) expected. If anything, he seemed to want it. Something Harry had known he would. Which was strange because, like everyone else, he had suspected an ulterior motive was behind his surrender despite the look of self-loathing he had seen in the Slytherin's eyes. 

It begged the question how he had been so sure of such thing. 

_Just instinct I suppose, _Harry shrugged. 

Finally, he began to drift off to sleep. 

Her silver hair glinted in the moonlight as she stood at the once grand now shabby entrance to what the people in the village below called 'The Riddle House.' 

Oh, how Micaela had come to truly despise that name. But not all the blame lay with the arrogant Tom, once her husband. 

No, she had foolishly allowed herself to be a slave to her own heart and that had proved costly. Never again would Micaela allow that to happen. 

_And in any case, my own son, the one he abandoned so callously, saw that he and I were both avenged._

Her followers were beginning to ascend the hill and she watched them steadily for a few moments before pulling up the hood of her flowing black cloak with the intention of deliberately disguising her feminine features. 

And for the finishing touch… 

_"Inclinatus,"_ She whispered, pointing her wand at her throat. Her voice immediately deepened, becoming masculine. 

Micaela was now ready to face her acolytes as they gathered in the ebon shadows of the large, crumbling mansion. They lusted for blood and she had given them opportunities to satisfy that lust. But despite what she promised them it was far from her ultimate goal, what she and the demon had plotted together. 

In truth, the senseless torture of Mudbloods and Muggles had nothing to do with it at all. 

For now though she was content to allow them their pleasures. 

"My friends," She greeted in her now baritone voice. None of the ones she had gathered tonight had met their elusive 'master' before and judging from the approving murmurs that ran through the ranks, 'he' was everything they had hoped he would be. 

Micaela Riddle almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. 

"Tonight you shall bare witness to a momentous event, for this night we shall finally step out of the darkness, fully and finally, and allow the world to know of our existence. They will know that they should fear us to the depth of their marrow and that we are unstoppable." 

The group of wizards and witches alike cheered and she grinned, exalted. 

"Tonight we bring death. To them," She bellowed, pointing directly at the village of Little Hangleton. They all turned to gaze at it, the bloodlust emanating from them rising to a fever pitch. 

It was truly intoxicating. 

"The horrid Muggles will finally know what true filth they are, right before they die." A twisted smile that her followers could not see but probably sensed nonetheless crossed her features and her tone dropped to a deathly whisper. 

"By sundown," She intoned quietly but clearly so they heard every word. "Their blood shall run in the gutters of this accused town!" 

They cheered again and began to descend the hill, their leader walking behind in steady steps, secretly relishing the chance to punish the townspeople for turning against her all those years ago. 

Just as her husband had. 

And as she had indicated to her followers, this was truly the beginning. 

Of the end. For some anyway. 

Draco had no idea what roused him from sleep in the early hours of that morning. All he knew was that he felt strangely fearful of something. Something tangible, yet invisible at the same time. 

What this could possibly mean though, he had no idea. 

All that came to him was a single thought that did not make any real sense at all to his sleep fogged brain. 

_It has begun._

**Notes:** 'Inclinatus' - The Latin word for the deepening or lowering of the voice. 


	6. Chapter Six

**The Enemy Walks**

**Author's Note:** A nice long chapter for you! There are extended notes at the end of the chapter explaining how _Order of the Phoenix_ will/won't affect this story.

Nothing could have prepared them for this. In a world filled with wars, in a world where human savagery and brutality are all too common you'd think it would be impossible to shock anyone anymore. Especially those who worked in law enforcement. 

But the officers of the police station in Great Hangleton were far more used to dealing with petty vandalism by the local youths, stuff like that. The scene of a massacre was certainly not one they ever thought they would encounter. But they would. Oh, they would. 

It all started the previous evening when they had received dozens of 999 calls from the distressed villagers of their sister town Little Hangleton. From what the phone operators could discern from these calls was that the village, the entire village, was under some kind of attack. 

Despite the absolute absurdity of this situation the police just could not ignore it, so they drove the few miles to the village to see what was what, joking about how some stupid teenager had obviously spiked the water supply or something on the way. 

That was when things started to get rather strange. The very first sinister twist of something that would turn out to be macabre and horrific, such that even Dante could not have conceived the hell that would await them the next morning, was that their vehicles had seemed utterly unable to get into Little Hangleton. They kept ending up on the wrong road and no amount of reversing and retracing of their steps seemed to work. It was if someone were deliberately preventing them from reaching the village. 

An idea, of course, that was patently impossible. 

About as impossible as the idea that the entire village had been destroyed, flattened, along with nearly all the inhabitants who had lived there mere hours ago. Only a handful remained and there was no apparently reason for why they had been spared. There had been no compassion for young or old in this senseless murder and the survivors themselves were in no fit state to tell them (if indeed, they even knew) why they had been allowed to live. 

It wasn't a bloodbath per se (although curiously, some stained the rain gutters) yet for every officer, investigator and medical examiner who saw the destruction the next day when finally they were able to get through to it they would always remember it as the most distressing and profoundly disturbing sight they had ever seen. Would ever see in fact 

Meaningless slaughter – that's what made it so chilling. 

No, nothing in their lives could ever have prepared them for this. 

His head rested lazily on the painted wood frame as he gazed out of the open window, wind ruffling his flaxen hair a little. He found the cool wind very soothing. 

Draco Malfoy had always thought the countryside was beautiful and highly under appreciated. Once upon another time in his past he had spent hour after hour gazing at the beautiful scenery beyond the large, high windows of his former manor home in Wiltshire, thirstily drinking it in as if were the most quenching of liquid. 

Draco hated to admit it but Granger and Weasley had found a nice place here. The cottage was peaceful but not too far from the nearest town so essential supplies were easy enough to get when they desired them. Draco knew he was being unfair by resenting these two for doing better than he would have guessed, but he couldn't help it. 

_Some habits really do die hard then_. 

Another habit that hadn't died was his desire to be alone. Never exactly a social butterfly before, he found he preferred his own company despite the fact that loneliness had nearly driven him mad in prison. 

_Maybe it's because I've always been the only one I trust,_ Draco mused. 

Right on cue, the door to the bedroom opened and Harry stepped in, hair askew as always. 

"You ok?" Potter asked quietly. It wasn't accusing or suspicious yet Draco still flinched as the question. 

"As ok as I can be. You do realise they will catch up with me eventually?" Draco replied sharply, giving voice to something that had been bothering him ever since the night of his escape. 

"Yes," Replied Harry bluntly. "It can't be helped though and I managed to clear Sirius' name before they found him." 

"That's because he was an innocent man. There's no pardon awaiting me at the end of this Potter, if that's what your thinking." Draco narrowed his eyes at him. "You'll be lucky if they don't throw you into jail with me." 

"Oh, I expect they shall," Said Harry nonchalantly. "As for pardons, well, you already know the answer to that don't you?" 

Draco looked astonished that Harry had the nerve to state their situation so baldly. He knew what was to come and yet it didn't seem to faze him in the least. 

Playing by the rules obviously wasn't an attractive option for the Golden Boy anymore but that made sense upon reflection since he had never had that much care for rules at Hogwarts either. In real life colouring ever so slightly outside of the lines was the only way to really achieve something. But this was hardly 'slightly.' 

"So, not a believer in the law anymore?" 

"Nope. Just in getting the job done." 

Draco took that in. He strongly suspected a lot of this went all the way back to Voldemort's return eleven years ago. That had been when the true impotency of the magical authorities had been exposed and if it hadn't been for Dumbledore...Draco's thoughts came to an unpleasant, shuddering halt there. He swallowed hard. He had been in custody when the aged Headmaster of Hogwarts had been struck down but it was still hard to think about the wizard. Mainly because he had always mocked and belittled him so unfairly and now he couldn't take any of that back. Ever. 

Harry's stomping over the magical authorities now was clearly because he did not trust them to act accordingly to their new threat. He was probably right to do so although it certainly put Hermione in a somewhat awkward position. 

Then again, it seemed pretty clear where her real loyalties lay and she didn't mind going behind her boss's back at all. 

"Is there anything else you would like to ask me?" 

Draco finally looked Harry directly in the eyes. Grey met green. 

"Yes actually," He replied softly. 

"That night, I asked why you chose to come to me for help and you said I was the only one in that prison that you trusted. I want to know why that is since you never explained it." 

A smirk crept up Potter's face. For whatever reason, he seemed pleased at the question. 

"I'm glad you asked me that, since, to be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely sure myself," He said carefully. 

"That's helpful," Draco snorted. 

Harry huffed. "Do you want to know or not?" 

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, go ahead." 

"Well, this will sound strange Malfoy but I think the reason I trusted you, and only you, was because I know you...in a manner of speaking." It was the truth – Harry may not know Draco well but through time and constant feuding he had certainly come to learn a few things about him at the least. 

Draco crossed his arms, not satisfied with Harry's answer. 

"Your going to have to elaborate for me Potter. I'm very much in the dark on what the hell that's supposed to mean." 

"Fine. What I mean to say is, you were the logical choice if we were going to seek help from a former Death Eater against our new enemy." Harry had begun to pace as he talked which Draco found a rather irritating distraction. "Those other Death Eaters in the prison? I don't know a thing about them. If I had asked them for help how would I know if anything they told me was true? I wouldn't, because I wouldn't know the first thing about them – whether they are sorry for what they've done, whether they in fact still uphold their beliefs, stuff like that. 

"You Malfoy, are a different matter altogether." 

"How so," Draco queried, not sure how much he was looking forward to Harry's answer. He suspected it would be something very backhanded. 

"Because I know several irrefutable facts about you. The first and foremost being that you are very much afraid of me." 

A series of indignant splutters erupted from Draco, seemingly more from habit than anything. Malfoys did so hate to be insulted. 

Harry cocked his head and fixed Draco with a piercing stare. "Are you contesting this?" Although it clearly went against every fibre of his being to admit it Draco spat out a firm, "No." 

"Right, now where was I?" 

"I believe you were about to tell me the other reasons why you trust me or the reasons behind them, something like that. Given what the first one was, I absolutely cannot wait to hear the rest!" And for just a moment there, in front of Harry, was the cocky teenager Malfoy had once been. The caustic tones, folded arms and straight backed arrogance, they were all present and defiant. All that was missing was Draco's trademark smirk yet it's absence made all the difference. 

It reminded Harry of something Sirius had once told him – "People don't change Harry, they merely evolve." 

This Draco Malfoy might still have traces of the arrogance of his rather misspent youth but there was simply no denying that he was capable of being humble, grateful and certainly remorseful. All things nobody would have accused Malfoy of possessing in his teens that was for sure. 

Pushing his thoughts aside for the moment, Harry continued. "The other fact is that I know the one person you look out for is yourself. You would have jumped at the chance to leave that prison even if it was with the devil himself," He explained. Draco certainly could not deny that was a rather self centred individual but prison had eroded some of that away, hence his refusal to help those who wanted questionable magical favours from him, promising his freedom in return. 

"I think 'God' would have made a better analogy," Draco noted dryly. Harry quirked a smile. 

"Yes, I see your point." 

After a slightly awkward pause, Harry wandered towards the door. Before he left though he asked of Draco, "Anything else?" 

There was but he didn't think this was quite the right time to voice such a question. He was somewhat afraid of what Harry's answer would be. 

"No, Harry, nothing." 

Harry nodded and walked out of the room. 

But the tentative use of his first name has not been lost upon him. 

Tiberius stood cloaked in ebon shadow and watched as the last of the Muggle emergency vehicles left what remained of Little Hangleton. 

Many families would be weeping tonight. 

The thought did not disturb him in the least. In fact, it made him smile although there were non there to witness this show of malice and contempt for human life. 

_The mistress did this,_ He thought gleefully. He had reason to feel particularly smug, as he was one of only three who knew the real nature of their 'master.' It was most pleasing to know Micaela Riddle had trusted him, along with Augustus and Natalia, above all the others. Especially so given that she was the mother of one of the most powerful and feared wizards that had ever lived, Lord Voldemort, and thusly she was a blood descendant of the great Salazar Slytherin. 

It seemed truly fitting the Tiberius has never encountered a woman so formidable as Micaela was. Her self imposed exile, during which she had never realised the great dark wizard Voldemort was in fact her own son, she had honed her abilities, hardened herself in preparation for a glorious re-emergence. Cultivating her darkness until she blossomed into one that all would soon fear. 

The parallels between mother and son were not lost upon him. 

Micaela may appear aged but her power w as great. Very great. She had shown how great it truly was the previous night. And soon she would do so again. 

Tiberius couldn't wait. 

He turned and walked away, barely a shadow imprinted in the gloom. 

"I think you are taking a bit too much on guesswork here Harry," Commented Sirius with a disapproving frown. His godson was so impulsive at times and it had got him into an awful lot of trouble in the past. 

"I know, but it's a plan and the only one we've got at the moment." 

"There is that," He conceded. 

That afternoon, after Harry's chat with Draco, Sirius had taken him aside to discuss plans of attack against their new foes. Mostly they would be looking to ambush them, catching them in the act so to speak, and take things from there. It was hardly an easy task though when one knew so little about them. 

Normally they would have had Hermione here too, but she had received an urgent owl from the Ministry and had left several hours ago. Ron had gone out to repair something, although why it was taking him so long when he had magic to fix anything in seconds no one knew. 

Lastly, Draco had seemed to want some alone time so Harry had left him be for now. 

"Still, I think we should wait to see what the others think before we rush into anything," Sirius added. Harry nodded in agreement. It was certainly true that his plan wasn't much of a plan at all really. 

Hermione would probably come up with something better. She had after all been in this field longer than Harry now. 

"We can't just assume they will show themselves," Sirius was saying. "We have to _know_ they will." 

Harry shrugged. "This is really more Hermione's area," He said, echoing his own thoughts from mere moments ago. 

"Yes. Shouldn't she be back by now?" 

The door to the living room creaked open and Ron sidled in. 

"Actually, sometimes she can be gone till late at night or even the next morning," He supplied, settling his long, gangling frame into an unoccupied chair. "These emergency cases can be pretty nasty business." 

"I can imagine," Sirius muttered, more to himself than anyone. He'd had plenty of dealings with dark wizards in times past. Harry felt inexplicably alarmed about this but Ron, who was perfectly used to it, seemed unconcerned. 

As if he had read Harry's thoughts, Ron said, "Don't worry, she'll be fine. She always is," But there was the tiniest trace of doubt in his voice. Because one day she wouldn't be fine, she would get hurt, maybe even killed and Ron could never stand to even think about it. 

_Or maybe she'll end up looking like Mad-Eye Moody,_ He thought. Not that it would matter, he'd still love her no matter what she looked like. 

Love was like that. 

"I think we should leave this for now," Sirius said finally. "But I would like to look at that information Hermione had last night. She wouldn't mind would she Ron?" He asked politely, but Harry knew he would filch it anyway if the answer was no. The Marauder was still very much alive in him, despite everything. 

Ron shook his head. "Nope. She was gonna let you, Harry and Ferret Boy have a look at it before you left anyway." Harry decided not to bother corrected the 'Ferret Boy' remark, which was technically inaccurate since Malfoy...no, _Draco_, he felt he should return the favour on that, was grown up now and in fact bore far more resemblance to a stringy piece of seaweed. 

_Plus name calling when you're in your mid-twenties is just rather childish._

Ron left to go get the parchment whilst Harry and Sirius waited in silence. A few minutes later he returned and placed the pile in front of them. 

It seemed to be a collection of rather haphazardly scribbled notes and other assorted information such as dates of attacks, drawings and the like. Hermione had obviously not had a lot of time to look through it all since some of it was repeated more than once. 

Sirius took one half whilst Harry flicked through the other. Ron fished out the drawing of the tattoo again, trying to puzzle out where he had seen this before. Then, completely out of the blue, he remembered. 

"Divination!" He burst out, startling the other two. 

"Pardon?" Asked Sirius, bewildered. He had never taken that class at Hogwarts and from what Harry had told that had been a very wise decision. His godson though, seemed as non-plussed as he was. 

"This mark," Ron explained excitedly, tapping the paper with his index finger. "I'm sure we did something about it in Divination." 

"No offence Ron, but I'd rather keep repressing my memories of those lessons." Nevertheless, Harry took the drawing and studied it, trying hard to recall if they had ever learnt anything about such a mark. 

Quite suddenly, as if a light switch had been flicked on in his head, Harry found he did remember it now. To Sirius' further astonishment, he burst out laughing. 

"Oh Ron! Don't you remember what Trelawney said this was?" Harry asked. 

Ron shook his head. 

"She said this was the symbol of the 13th sign of the Zodiac – Ophiuchus, the serpent bearer." A stunned silence followed this proclamation. Then it was Sirius' turn to laugh. 

"But...there's only the twelve surely?" He asked. 

"Exactly," Harry replied. "People have been debating for ages over whether it truly exists – very few true Seers and Astrologists believe in it." 

"Which naturally begs the question – why are they using a Zodiac sign as their marker?" His godfather asked, thoughtful again. 

Nobody ever got a chance to answer that question because at that moment the door to the room burst violently open and Hermione rushed in, a look of genuine shock in wide, brown eyes and tears streaming unnoticed down her face. Malfoy came in after her, clearly confused and startled. 

Ron leapt up and took his wife into his arms. Thoroughly alarmed by her state. 

"Hermione, what-?" He started to ask, but she cut him off. 

"It's happened!" She shrieked hysterically. 

"What's happened?" Harry coaxed gently. 

It took a few moments for her to compose herself enough to answer the question. Slowly and with sudden, amazing calm she told them what had happened. What she had seen. 

It was a horror beyond anything they could ever have imagined. 

_How one does miss the glorious ecstasy of grief_. Micaela had not witnessed it for a long time. Too long. As she watched the horror, rage and pain play upon the faces of Ron, Harry, Sirius and Draco as the young women Hermione told them about what she, Micaela, had done, she savoured the sweet taste of victory once again. 

So she had struck the first real blow, it would be interesting to see how they would choose to respond. Good, honourable people were so boringly predictable but perhaps they would surprise her. 

_And one never gets tired of seeing the purity of hatred._

It was there, his countenance burned with it. It made Micaela pleasure increase ten fold to see it. 

Harry Potter's hate though was nothing compared to hers. 

To the silent, empty room she intoned, "I will be the end of you Harry Potter." 

_"Yes,"_ Said the voice of the demon, startling her for he was no longer speaking in her mind. But how…? 

_"We shall,"_ It told her. 

The silence was horrible. 

It was the day after Hermione had come home and told them of the evil that had occurred and yet the truth was still in the process of sinking in. 

Almost an entire village gone. Inhabitants' dead. Only those of wizard families had been left and there had not been many of them. The horror of what they had seen had rendered those survivors unfit for questioning about it. At the moment anyway. 

Draco felt more isolated than ever from the others. The only relief was that they would be going back to Lupin's the next day. It was a relief because Draco didn't think he could stand another day of looking up and seeing accusatory looks in everyone's eyes – at least he could guarantee that Remus would remain neutral when he heard about it. At the moment it was if they all thought he was somehow responsible. 

How idiotic can you get? Draco thought savagely. To hell with what was grateful! How could they ever be foolish enough to think this was his fault? 

Because they need someone to blame. Someone who isn't faceless. 

This person, whoever and whatever they were, was even more of a coward than he had ever been. At least he had always been prepared to face someone himself, even if it had required the presence of his two thuggish cronies Crabbe and Goyle before he felt brave enough to actually do so. 

This wizard could not even do that. 

Perhaps it seemed more sensible for him to hide his identity but to Draco it seemed more like mere fear and cowardice and he knew from both of those. 

Unless the wizard had actually been there that night. But they could not know for sure until the witnesses recovered enough to be questioned. 

"Draco?" 

Draco jumped as suddenly as if he had been scalded. 

"Must you sneak around like that Harry," He snapped, more out of surprise and fright than anything. 

"Well, I do apologise your majesty!" Harry growled angrily. Draco swallowed hard and chewed his lip. He really was going to have to learn to set aside his pride from time to time. 

"I'm sorry Harry. What did you want?" He asked politely. Now that he had the opening, Harry seemed rather unsure of how to proceed through it. 

"I, um, just wanted to, well...you've been so quiet about all of this." 

Draco shrugged. "Yes, well, I haven't got a lot to say. Especially when those around me keep glaring at me as if this is somehow my fault!" 

Harry blinked, taken aback at this accusation. Had they been doing that? Not that he was aware, but it wasn't impossible. Draco, whether he liked it or not, was a strong, unpleasant reminder of what has been done to then the last time they had had such an enemy to deal with. He owed them all, in Sirius' case possibly more than he could ever repay. 

Harry in fact explained this to the Slytherin, with several tactful omissions of course and Malfoy's anger seemed to dissipate a bit. Although he had been rather angered at Draco's lashing out, nerves were so badly stretched at the moment that Harry decided to let it slide. 

"I understand, but...well, the Dark Lord never actually did something quite that audacious and, well...cruel," Draco was saying. 

"What about the church? Remember that?" Harry reminded him, shuddering inwardly at the memory. Voldemort had made sure he'd seen every moment of that massacre through the connection they shared. He had seen it through the Dark Lord's very eyes, as if he rather than the Dark Lord had been the killer. 

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Painfully. Father was there and he…well, he took a lot of pleasure in telling me all about it," He explained, disgust evident in every syllable. Back in their school days, Harry had always viewed Draco, with good reason, as being a simply carbon copy of his father – cold and cruel. It was moments such as this however that it became obvious that Draco was not like the late Lucius at all. 

_Well, not anymore. He proved he could take real delight in cruelty just as much as 'father' could._

Harry sighed, pushing these thoughts aside. 

"Don't worry, I know you weren't involved," He said, having not overlooked the subtle point Draco had made with his statement – he had not been anywhere near the church. That wasn't surprising though since he would have still been at school at the time. This raised some uncomfortable questions about whether he would have been there otherwise but it was no use dwelling on 'what ifs.' What might have been was irrelevant, what 'had' been was important. 

"Besides," Harry added as an after thought. "Your not the only one who's been on the receiving end of accusing looks recently." Draco was momentarily confused by the comment – _why on earth would anyone be staring accusingly at Harry?_ – Until he recalled Potter's argument with Sirius before they left and the sly dig Hermione had made at him when they had arrived. This probably wasn't the best time to ask and strictly it really was none of Draco's business at all but he couldn't help it. 

"Mm, so I noticed. Am I right in assuming you went to live in the Muggle world after the war and this has somewhat miffed your friends?" 

To his surprise, Harry didn't get angry at Draco's prying and eavesdropping. In fact he got the distinct impression that Harry had been praying for the opportunity to discuss this with someone neutral. 

"Yes, you would Draco. And 'somewhat miffed' is a big understatement." He sighed and ran a hand through his unruly black hair, messing it up even further. Draco thought the look rather suited him. 

_Not that I care what look suits him of course._

"Couldn't see any point staying," He continued. 

"Because you vanquished the Dark Lord and that's all you'd ever had to offer to our world – heroics." Draco guessed. Harry stared at him for a long moment, taken aback by the shrewd deduction. The way Draco had phrased it reminded him rather unpleasantly of fifth year. Voldemort had played on Harry's desire to be the hero in order to gain knowledge that would lend him a possibly crucial advantage. Basically, Harry had been well and truly set up and worst of all it had worked. 

It was a miracle any of them had got out of the Ministry of Magic building alive that day. The vision of Sirius had not been incorrect though – he was being tortured. Just not by Voldemort. It had been Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' own cousin no less. 

They had all made sure she had paid for that in the end. 

Harry had vowed to keep Sirius, the only thing close to a parent he'd ever known, safe from that moment onward. 

He'd failed miserably. 

"Yes well," Harry replied stiffly. "I've had my attitude revised since then." 

"I'd imagine hiding out from all your problems and friends gave you ample time to do so," Draco sniped before he could stop himself. 

"That is not what I – what business is this of your anyway?" Harry snarled defensively. Draco held his hands up in a placating gesture, reminding himself that Harry had a hidden vicious streak and (never mind hexing him into an oblivion) could punch him across the room and not even consider it exercise. 

"None at all. And it's not like I can talk," He admitted. 

_I'm the very last person who should be judging anyone._

"No," Harry snapped. "It's not. And someone like you will never have the faintest idea what it is like to be me. I've always thought bravery was omitted from the Slytherin dictionary." 

Without another word, Harry stormed out. Draco wanted desperately to say something; anything back at the Gryffindor but his voice didn't seem to want to cooperate. He settled for raging in silence at himself as well as Potter. 

Forgiveness by those he'd wronged seemed a much greater distance away now than it had that morning. 

If indeed, it had ever been feasibly within his reach. 

"Master," Micaela breathed, unable to keep the uncertain, fearful tremble from her voice. "How is this possible?" 

In front of Micaela, in what had once been the drawing room of the Riddle House but was now nothing more than a dilapidated wreck covered in the mould and dust of many decades of abandonment, was something that looked like a dark, indigo coloured pool suspended in mid air. A breach in the fabric of the world. 

Lurking in the depths of that pool was Ophiuchus, her demon master whom she had a struck a bargain with all those years ago. She had pleaded with the entity for her life, pledged to do anything in return. 

What he had wanted in return, as was common with demons, was souls. The world was, after all, filled with billions of them. There were simply never enough souls of the dead to satisfy the hunger of these base and most terrible denizens of the dimension known as hell. 

Give them the mortal world and he would never go hungry again. Ophiuchus would glut himself on the souls of the living. 

_And I will sit at his right hand like a queen._

_"Why, your glorious massacre of course,"_ The demon replied from behind the breach, sounding rather amused. He was a giant step closer to entering this world than he had been merely a day ago but he was not there yet. Micaela was secretly glad of that. 

His answer to her question however, bewildered her. 

"But that-" 

_"Was done by people bearing my brand and therefore was perpetuated in my name,"_ Ophiuchus interrupted. Judging from the change in tone, he knew what Micaela had done had been for her own reasons alone and he was clearly angry that she was not dedicated in full to fulfilling her end of their agreement. 

_Of course,_ Micaela thought furiously. _Why didn't I realise that before?_ It was he who had suggested the use of his own symbol (with an incantation to seal and ensure the loyalty of those who wore it) instead of the Dark Mark as she had originally planned. Micaela had not considered that there had been any kind of ulterior motive behind the suggestion. 

"I am sorry master, I –" 

_"Don't be sorry Micaela. See what the bloodshed has accomplished! You have achieved in one night what I thought would take a great deal more time to do! I am willing to overlook the fact that it was unintentional." _

There was pregnant pause before the demon continued in a deadly tone. 

_"This time. I would strongly suggest Micaela, that you set aside your desire for vengeance against Harry Potter and concentrate on fulfilling what you promised me – I gave you your life woman, I can take it away just as easily." _

"I will let it go master. I promise," She replied sincerely. 

But she lied. 

Harry found himself stood in a cemetery. It was dark, so black that it seemed to have blotted out the moon and stars. 

Turning around he saw a house on a hill in the distance. Two things came together at once – one, he was dreaming. Two, he had been here before. 

This was where Voldemort's rebirth had taken place. Right on his father's grave. 

_Right on this very spot_, He realised with an unpleasant jolt as his eyes fell on the headstone just off to his left inscribed _TOM RIDDLE_. 

As if the thing that lurked in the ebon shadows had merely been awaiting his cue, he emerged right in front of Harry. Tall and thin, white as chalk, face still a truly horrible countenance to look upon, Harry found himself staring at Lord Voldemort once again. He'd seen the wizard so often – in both his dreams and his waking life – the horror his presence invoked should have worn off. 

Yet even after eight years it had not. Harry shook his head in slow denial of what he was seeing. 

"I killed you." It was meant to sound firm, sure of the truth in this statement. It came out the exact opposite of what he intended. Because, for the first time since their last and final battle, he wasn't at all sure if he had really defeated Voldemort once and for all. 

"How can you be so sure of that?" Taunted Voldemort in his high, cold voice that caused thrills of fear to track chillingly up his spine and the hair on Harry's neck to stand on end. 

"I saw you die!" Harry snapped insistently. 

"Are you sure you saw what you _thought_ you saw? No, of course you cannot be. You cannot be sure just how much of my former power I got back after I was reborn." He smiled then and the effect upon his already disfigured face was unbelievably horrifying. 

"The truth is, Harry Potter, that you cannot be sure of anything. At all." 

"Except for the fact that I _did_ see you die! I killed you myself!" Harry raged. 

"So sure are you that you have enlisted the help of one of _my_ followers against what you think is a new enemy? One, I might add, that I rather favoured." Draco (for it had to be him) had neglected to mention this. Voldemort clearly read the expression on his face and laughed his terrible laugh. 

"I'll be seeing you again Harry Potter," He promised before the image faded and Harry awoke in his darkened room. His eyes immediately fell onto Draco in the bed across from him, sleeping peacefully. Untroubled by horrible nightmares. 

For the first time Harry found himself seriously questioning whether seeking out Malfoy's help had been a wise thing to do after all. 

How could he ever (despite what he had said before) really trust, much less forgive, someone who was apparently so favoured by Voldemort? According to his past experience Voldemort had only ever shown favour to those who were the most fanatical and most cruel. 

Harry simply stared at the sleeping young man. Draco looked rather angelic when he was asleep. 

He couldn't think of anyone who could be anything less. 

The seeds of doubt had been planted. Now all Micaela had to do was watch them grow. She would destroy the one who had killed her son from the inside – through his very heart. By the end he would doubt everything that he had ever known, believed and trusted in. Especially himself. 

Malfoy was merely a useful starting point. He had been a traitor to her son and for that he would pay eventually. But he was not Micaela's biggest concern. 

She would reduce Harry Potter to less than nothing. 

And then she would kill him.

**Author's Note - Extended.**

First things first - will _Order of the Phoenix_ effect this story at all? The answer is not really. I will incorporate some events into the narrative (as you will have already seen) and in one particular part i had to do some serious canon fiddling. However, mostly i will continue working within books 1-4 canon. And can i just say - killing SIRIUS? The HELL? 

_Other Notes - _

**Ophiuchus **- Is indeed the disputed 13th sign of the Zodiac, however the symbol used in this story is entirely my own invention.

**Tiberius** - Obviously nothing to do with the character of the same name who appeared in OoTP.

**Augustus and Natalia** - I'm a big fan of Roman history so i often use names gleaned from those times. Augustus was the name of a Roman Emperor. Natalia is obviously the Italian variation of 'Natalie.'

_About Slash_ - 

I have made a decision about that - it is going ahead, but it probably won't be for a while. I also promise to have some serious air clearing in the next chapter.


End file.
